


The King of the Forgotten Characters

by LuckySevens



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Epic Mickey (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Death Threats, Drama, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28603281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckySevens/pseuds/LuckySevens
Summary: After completing the three trials at the top of Mickeyjunk Mountain, Mickey has earned an audience with Wasteland's leader, King Oswald. When the rabbit proves less than eager to help, Mickey makes an offer; one magic paintbrush in exchange for guidance out.An alternate take that leans a bit more on Oswald's (in canon former) royal title.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	The King of the Forgotten Characters

In an odd way, Oswald's setup was like something out of a fairy tale.

Whoever wished to see the mysterious king of the magical land would need to complete three trials, tests of ability and courage. It was the kind of thing Mickey could easily see being proclaimed from a balcony as people looked up at some well dressed official reading from a scroll. The kingdom's location, through the mirror, on the sorcerer's table, just added to the effect.

Thinking about that kept the mouse's mind from wondering if stroking the king's ego was the whole point or just a bonus. Had there been other "trials" considered, or was it known immediately that they would be the ruler's old shorts, because they were just so challenging and required so much skill and bravery, they were the only thing that could truly test worthiness?

Mickey scoffed. He glanced backwards at the black and white castle one last time, then launched himself through the projector screen.

When he arrived back in the normal world of Wasteland, in Oswald's fortress, the room seemed to have changed.

All of the crumbling merchandise was still there, exactly where it had been before. The place still had the same dark metal walls and floor, and the lights still didn't do an even remotely decent job of illuminating anything. It was still just a bit too cold, with the sound of rumbling just barely audible, coming from somewhere the mouse couldn't detect. It'd never seemed like a pleasant place to Mickey, but now something about it made him feel actively uncomfortable.

The difference, he realized quickly, was that the card soldiers had stopped their casual stances and shuffling around. Each of them was kneeling, still as a stone, in Mickey's general direction. He knew it wasn't him they were bowing to, though; it was a certain someone above him.

The mouse walked backwards. looking up at the platform above the projectors, watching the top of the throne come into view, then the rest of it slowly rise up until he could see the whole thing, including its occupant. It was almost absurd; the rubber hose creature, designed and created for silly grins, sitting in a dark, decaying room, commanding the respect of all else in it.

Oswald was practically reclining in the throne, his head resting on one hand, while the other hand tapped at an armrest. He wore a golden crown over his ears, which had had five points, but one was long gone. Broken off in some kind of struggle, maybe. A hole was carved in the center, shaped like the rabbit's head.

He'd have looked bored if not for the smirk. Instead he looked confident. So confident that he didn't need to sit up straight or bother to try and hide the broken part of the crown. This was his throne room, after all, in his land. These soldiers listened to and respected him.

Mickey had pondered, on his way up the mountain, what he would say to the rabbit, searching for words that would get them off on the right foot, but it had seemed hopeless. They already had a rotten relationship before he even set his eyes on him. All the little speeches he found himself preparing inevitably hit a dead-end where he wasn't sure where to go.

So, he straightened up, and simply said,

"Oswald. I've heard a lot about you."

The rabbit's one eye rose, and he shook his head before pointing down. The mouse's eyes followed the direction, finding his own smiling face staring up at him. He then returned Oswald's questioning look.

"'M sorry, I don't..."

"Bow, you idiot!" one of the cards yelled from behind him. Something soft hit the back of his head, bouncing off with a squeak.

Oswald's grin grew wider as he nodded, eagerly. Clearly, he'd been waiting a long time for this.

Mickey had seen enough of this place, enough destroyed buildings and sad looking people, to figure this was probably the only thing that might bring the king joy in who even knew how long. He, also, had a sense of perspective; this was, really, pathetic, that this was all he had to grasp onto. In the long run, it would mean absolutely nothing. He knew that. Still, he couldn't bring himself to actually go through with it. Instead, the mouse's hands tensed, incensed that the rabbit clearly had no intentions of even trying to act civil.

"If you're not going to do it," came another voice from behind him, "Get out of here and leave us alone."

Why should he? It wasn't like Oswald was going to suddenly start behaving like a gentleman just because he'd played along with him grasping at the last remains of his royal title.

Still, though, the more rational part of him knew that he needed all the goodwill he could get.

He slowly sank to one knee, placing his hand on the other, and bent forward slightly, trying to mimic what he figured a knight might do after returning from a winning battle, which he might as well have been with everything he had to fight just to get up there. If he was going to do this, he would do it with dignity. He stayed like that for a few moments before he looked back up at the rabbit, who was now leaning forward, his face gleeful and smug.

"You may speak to me now," Oswald said, "Just...stay like that while ya do it."

"Alright," Mickey said, shrugging off the rabbit's childish behavior, "Oswald, I-"

"King Oswald," he interjected, "You will address me properly.

 _"Whatever makes his highness happy,"_ Mickey thought, holding back from rolling his eyes, " _as he sits around on a pile of garbage_."

"Fine. King Oswald," he emphasized the two words, "the...your people have told me a lot about you."

"Of course they have," Oswald said, leaning back in the chair.

Everyone the mouse had run into had seemed to have a high opinion of the rabbit, chatting happily about him when he'd asked. They told him about Oswald, the fair and just king. Oswald, the first forgotten character. They spoke, in hushed, somber tones, about all he'd lost, and how much he still sacrificed, trying to defeat the danger that threatened them. When the topic turned to that, they got decidedly more vague, and he'd end the conversation quickly, not wanting to pry.

Characters he didn't know, robotic copies of his friends, everyone here liked Oswald. Even Pete hadn't really said anything insulting when asked. So, somewhere under all the bravado, there had to be a helpful, caring person. Somewhere. At least, he hoped.

"They said that you could help me."

"Oh. Oh, good. Ya see, I thought you just thought 'hey, I need a tour-guide; I should go bother the king! Clearly he doesn't have anything better to do!'," the rabbit rambled, "It seemed like a very _you_ thing to do. But if my subjects were the ones who gave you the idea...well..."

He bit his cheek, looking off in the direction of one of the walls.

"Guess I can't blame ya for that one."

The king sounded disappointed.

"Right. So, uh...can you help me get out of here?"

"Hm?" the rabbit's eyes went back to him, then widened as if he was shocked. His mouth pulled back into a grin and soon he was doubled over laughing. Quickly after, laughter came from behind him as the cards joined in.

Mickey didn't bother to ask what was so funny; he already had a pretty good idea. He waited patiently for the rabbit to finish his giggle fit, shifting slightly to try and take pressure off his knee, drumming his fingers on the other one. He rested his cheek on his remaining hand and rolled his eyes while no one was looking. 

"Ya see? This is exactly the kind of self-important crud I expect from ya," he said, still a hint of joviality to his voice, "Everyone's gotta drop everything t' help Mickey!"

He let out a long sigh, then leaned forward, folding his hands. He was still smiling, the kind of smile one might direct at a small child that'd just said it was going to be a mermaid when it grew up.

"Listen, Mouse, I can help ya, but I won't. I'm not up here for the fun of it. I've got an important job t' do, to keep my people safe. I leave this mountain for emergencies and to check on my children. That's it. And, well, I know it might sound a bit weird to ya, but 'Mickey Mouse is confused' isn't an emergency t' me."

He leaned back, dismissively waving his hand in the direction of the exit.

"You can get up now. The door's still right behind ya. This place has got way too much a' you as it is, so I'd really rather you leave the mountain entirely."

The mouse didn't move, glaring at the rabbit, collecting his thoughts. He hadn't hiked up the entire mountain and gone along with his ego stroking just to get shoved aside after a minute long, one-sided chat.

"Those simple ears do work, don't they?" Oswald said, responding to the glare with mild amusement, "I get that you don't wanna be here, but...well, welcome to Wasteland!"

He threw up his arms, then let them fall back to the chair.

"No one wants t' be here!"

"I can make it worth your while," the mouse said, his voice very certain.

The rabbit looked skeptical, giving a little snort.

"Oh yeah?" he scoffed, "And just how do ya think you're gonna do that?"

Pulling the brush from his pocket, the mouse unleashed a stream of thinner at one of the nearby plush toys of himself. Within seconds, the ears were gone, then, with a couple more seconds and a streak of paint, new, elongated ones took their place. Oswald stared in astonishment, then looked back to the mouse, who took his turn to smirk.

"Guide me outta here...and this brush is yours," he said, holding it up.

The rabbit jumped from his throne and walked to the edge of the platform, looking practically hypnotized. Under his breath, he muttered things the mouse could just barely make out.

"Fix Mean Street's buildings, cover the thinner pits, kill the Blotlings, destroy the Beetleworx, destroy the Mad Doctor...rebuild the labyrinth, expand Mean Street...expand Ostown...more shelter...restore Dark Beauty..."

His mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Tell me, Mouse...what's stoppin' me just from havin' my guards kill you and takin' the brush?"

Mickey stood as straight as he could, trying to look more confidant than he felt. His hand gripped the brush tightly.

"Because I'll defend myself, and a good king tries to avoid unnecessary..." he hesitated, slightly, not sure how to encompass the many bad things that could happen if things went that way, "...pain. Or...losses..."

Oswald chuckled.

"You don't have that in ya."

Mickey's brows drew downward. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment, both waiting for the other to cave first.

"Fine."

Oswald jumped from the platform, taking a step forward before noticing that the mouse was now standing and the thinner-tipped brush was pointed at him. He lazily raised both arms in mock surrender.

"Oh no you don't," said Mickey, "I'm not letting you near me. I'm going down first, then I'll wait for you where there's witnesses."

"Right, okay," Oswald responded, sounding bored, "You're totally the kind of person that'd orphan a buncha babies, I believe that. Didn't we just go over this?"

The mouse kept the brush steadily pointed at him, determination in his eyes. The next thing Oswald knew, one foot was grazed by stray drops of thinner, and it hurt so badly he didn't even notice Mickey's look of shock and mild disgust when he pulled his leg off to ensure it wasn't badly damaged.

The card guards were around the mouse quickly, and before he really knew what was happening he found himself yanked back, with a spear's shaft pressed against the front of his throat, accompanied by two spear tips inches from his neck. He kept an iron grip on the brush, but one of the cards, with inexplicable strength, held his arm straight, pointed away from the other toons, effectively rendering it useless. His other hand grabbed at the handle choking him.

"Hey! Watch the feet! Those are my thing!" Oswald shouted, as he inspected the appendage, "I don't go throwing acid at your ears, do I?"

He stuck the leg back on, then returned his attention to his guards and the neutralized mouse. The sight brought a smile to his face, and the sight of that made Mickey even more uncomfortable than he already was. Without really thinking, he struggled a bit, but it didn't accomplish much other than more force around his throat, jerking his head back again.

"Are you alright, your highness?" asked the card behind Mickey. The rabbit nodded, not taking his eyes off him.

"Really?" Oswald said, "You thought you could get away with a warning shot on a king in his throne room? With guards _right there?_ "

Mickey didn't bother to squeak out a response.

"Ya know, I think that's treason," the rabbit rattled on, barely trying to hide his growing grin, "I mean, kinda, you're not from here, but still, I could have you killed for that! You're dangerous! No one'd blame me."

He frowned, giving the mouse a doe-eyed, frightened expression.

"I've gotta think of my own safety," he said, then took in a quick, surprised breath, "And my kids! Oh, you could hurt them to get to me. Can't have someone tryin' ta harm my sweet little bunnies!"

"O-Os..." the mouse managed to get out, the difficulty of speaking forcing him to dispense with pleasant titles, though he was sure the rabbit would prefer he continue using them, "c-c'mon, you know...you know I...wouldn't..."

"Mm..." Oswald's hand moved to his chin, glancing at the ceiling in an exaggerated thinking pose, "well, I hate t' break the news to you, Mouse, but the point a warning shots is to convince people you _would_."

He lowered his gaze, directing it towards the brush, the smug look returning to his face. The mouse shifted his fingers as much as he could while still keeping his fist clenched as tight as possible, trying to wordlessly signal that the magical object wasn't going to leave his hand easily, just in case the rabbit felt like trying to pry it away.

"'n this way I can get right to work using that paintbrush!" Oswald said.

His eyes returned to Mickey, lingering for a quick moment on his chest. For a second, he looked deep in thought, but the inappropriate smile came back quickly enough. He raised his eyes, quirked his head, awaiting a response. 

The mouse's mouth opened, but he couldn't think of anything to say. All he could really think was that he was angry. Extremely angry. If the rabbit was just a bit closer, he would've kicked him, regardless of the consequences. The king was the one who'd escalated things to begin with, the one who'd brought up killing at all. Now, he guessed, he wanted him to beg for it not to happen, but he wasn't going to play along anymore. He was done with this garbage. As best as he could, he took in a deep breath to steady himself, and glared at the king.

"Fine," he said, simply, "D-do it."

Oswald's smug look died immediately, replaced with shock. For a second, the spear shaft slackened, the other spears dipped down, and the hands on his arm loosened, but only for a second. Not long enough for Mickey to even take in a proper breath.

The rabbit glanced to the side, then the other. He placed his hands on his waist, puffed out his chest and opened his mouth as if to declare something, but then deflated.

Mickey felt a little flicker of smug satisfaction, but didn't let it show on his face. 

Finally, Oswald looked away.

"I don't need the mess," he said, then waved his hand, "Let 'em go."

The spears lowered; the one at his throat was lifted back over his head. His arm was released. It threw the mouse off balance, and, with a little help from a light shove from behind, he found himself falling to his knees. The guards moved back to their original positions, leaving the mouse and rabbit in the center of the room, and ignoring the quick, accusing glare the former threw over his shoulder.

"Are you gonna start moving soon, Mouse?" Oswald asked. He crossed his arms over his chest, keeping his eyes looking anywhere but in Mickey's direction, "You're already makin' me wait like a full day or so while you try ta get down the mountain..."

Shaking slightly, taking in deep breaths, Mickey stood up. His throat hurt terribly; he wondered what the quickest way to get some water would be, but figured it wouldn't be with Oswald. He'd probably have to wait until he got down to Ostown. As much as that sounded unpleasant, he had more important things to focus on at the moment.

He took a step towards the rabbit, catching his attention.

"I..." he started, then coughed a few times before continuing, "We can go down together, if you want..."

The rabbit raised an eyebrow. Mickey took in a deliberate, steady, deep breath, looking down at the floor with a serious expression as he considered what he'd just said. Then, with a nod, he looked at Oswald again, certain of his decision. In order for this to work, they were going to need at least some vague facsimile of trust between them. Oswald clearly was not going to extend the olive branch, so Mickey would have to.

"I'm fine with it if you are," he coaxed. Then, with a little smile, and a hand extended in truce, added, "your majesty."

Oswald's eyes narrowed, then flickered back and forth between the mouse's eyes, his hand, and the paintbrush, still held tightly in his other hand, down near his waist. Eventually, he held his arms behind his back, raised his noise in the air, and took a couple steps, bringing him past the mouse.

"Kings don't shake hands with peasants," he said, looking over his shoulder and emphasizing the last word, "At least, _this_ king doesn't shake hands with _this_ peasant."

Mickey let his hand drop, but he continued to smile. He wanted to give the rabbit a little friendly knock on the shoulder, but figured that would be pushing things too far. 

"Hm. Well, lotsa people down there seem to think we're brothers," he said, trying to maintain a tone that was pleasant but in a casual, cautious kind of way, "that's gotta get me some kinda nice title, right?"

Oswald was on him almost as quickly as the guards were, shoving a finger in his face and jabbing it every few words for emphasis.

"We are not brothers, you are not a prince, and I will call you a peasant if I want to because **that's what you are!** "

For a moment, he stood in front of the mouse, hands balled into fists, teeth clenched, chest heaving with the deep breaths he was sucking through them. Then he straightened his crown a bit before stomping off in the direction of the door, angrily muttering under his breath about arrogance. 

"C'mon, let's get you outta here so I can get started using that brush!"

The cards shouted a chorus of agreements, "Yeah!", "Move it!", "Get outta here!", as Mickey ran to catch up with him. While he didn't really know how the rabbit planned to get him out of Wasteland, he was happy that progress was being made, and very eager to pursue it. Soon enough, he would be home. That was something he had to keep optimistic about. 

Halfway down the spiraling path out of the building, he fell into step behind the rabbit. 

He decided not to tell him that he, personally, felt "Prince Mickey of Wasteland" had an odd but charming kind of ring to it.


End file.
